


Never Will Run Smooth

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Flashbacks, Growing Up, Harlequin, Kissing, M/M, Meant To Be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he was six years old, JR Ackles met Jared Anderson—his best friend and future husband. Twenty years later, Jensen meets Jay Padalecki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Will Run Smooth

**Author's Note:**

> Flashbacks in _italics_. See end notes for the prompt this was based on. I don't want to give anything away :)
> 
> Originally posted September 2009.

_“Ew, Dad! He's drooling."_

_Alan Ackles watched his six year old son's face scrunch up. Jared, the drooling toddler, kept on playing with his blocks and ignored the boy looking at him with distaste._

_"He's not drooling, JR," Alan smiled—Jared laughing and spitting happily. "He's just having fun."_

_Jensen Ross Ackles—JR to just about everyone—grimaced when Jared reached grubby hands towards his new sneakers._

_"Dad…."_

_"Just let him play, JR."_

_JR kicked a few toy cars in Jared's direction, successfully diverting the toddler's attention away from his shoes. He didn't know why Dad made them drive all the way to San Antonio to see the Andersons. What the heck was he supposed to do with a kid who barely talked and preferred wooden toys to action figures?_

_"Can we go now, Dad?"_

_"We just got here. Settle down."_

_Mrs. Anderson walked into the family room and laughed at JR's pout. She handed one bright yellow juice box to her son and another to JR._

_"Dad...."_

_"JR, drink it."_

_"But it's grape!"_

_"JR."_

_"Fine," JR huffed, peeling the straw from the box with a crackle. He thumped down cross-legged on the carpet, watching Jared ignore his own Hi-C fruit punch. Alan didn't miss his son's dour mood._

_"Why don't you play with Jared?"_

_"He doesn't haven any cool toys."_

_"Play a game then."_

_"But he's a baby!"_

_The adults shared a secret laugh, Mrs. Anderson ducking her head._

_"Someday you're going to love Jared very much, JR," she said. "More than anything."_

_JR doubted that, and he scowled so the adults knew it too. "More than my swing set?"_

_Jared's mom nodded._

_"More than my Big Wheels?"_

_"You'll love Jared more than Maxie," Alan chimed in._

_"Whoa!" JR was baffled. His teddy bear was his best friend. There was no way he'd ever consider liking this kid more than Maxie._

_"Wait and see, JR."_

_Alan and Jared's mom talked quietly, and JR turned sullenly back to the oblivious toddler. JR just stared until he felt tiny fingers curling over his knee. Jared's big, brown eyes looked up at him._

_"Trade?"_

_His other hand offered the box of fruit punch. JR looked at his own untouched grape juice, and handed it over. He got a big, honest smile and reached out to help Jared poke the straw through the tiny, silver hole. Jared took a slurp, cheeks puckering with juice, and then giggled._

_Maybe this kid wasn't so bad._

* * *

* * *

"Jesus, Jen—you're a bastard."

Christian doesn't sound all that pissed. The redhead he's just blown off stomps away from their table—Jensen takes one last look at her great ass—and into the crowd.

"Least you could have done was to introduce me, man. Was it even good?" 

"Awesome," Jensen smirks over the top of his beer. "But you know me." 

"Hit it once and never again?"

"Not worth it, dude." 

It hasn't been _worth it_ in a long time. Jensen folds his damp cocktail napkin in half, corner-to-corner, and wonders if it ever would be.

* * *

The journal is the first thing Jensen pulls from his nightstand when he finally makes it into bed. There's a new blank page halfway in, and he ruins the pristine paper with two words.

 _Julie McNiven_. 

Jensen can't think of anything else to add about the red-head from earlier. They'd hit it off the night before, had a little fun with no promise of anything more. He sets the black rolling ball pen to thick paper and starts a spiral. He draws one continuous line, tracing around and around in abstract designs. 

A quarter of the page is filled before Jensen stops. He turns to the front cover of the thick, leather bound book. 

"Just another day," Jensen mutters quietly to the sepia photo. "Nothing special."

* * *

Fads are funny things. They're unpredictable, stupid, and pass quickly—most forgotten as soon as the next one shows up. Those concerning parenting are the funniest and usually the most pointless. Today it's organic diets and genderless baby names. Yesterday it was Mozart, trying to make babies smarter before they'd even graduated to solid foods.

Twenty three years ago in Texas, it was betrothals. Yeah, that's right, parents planning their children's marriages before they could talk and object to the pointless ritual. 

In reality, most never panned out but that didn't mean parents weren't trying. It was the thing in Texas society; Donna Ackles got very caught up in the whirlwind and her enthusiasm never dimmed until her plans came to nothing. 

Jensen's mother never spoke of it again until she was in the hospital. Then, every few days, Donna would remember the Andersons. She'd prattle absentmindedly about reception halls and family gatherings like she wasn't sick and the past never happened.

* * *

Jensen pretends otherwise, but he really doesn't get his family's business.

Ackles Acquisitions specialized in "eating up small, floundering corporations like a bear gorging after a long winter." 

It always gets a chuckle; Jensen uses that same line over and over with new contacts and nameless suits--he can never think of anything else to say. He's not stupid—Jensen can do his job with a robotic efficiency and he earns plenty of money—but he's not particularly fond of the aggressive business. He was nudged into it after college left him with little drive and even less direction. After a few years he was too settled to contemplate anything else. There's a lot of nonsense, barely anything memorable, and Jensen spends a good deal of his day making plans for his nights out. The arrangements can get complicated.

"What about Henry's?" 

"We went there last week, Chris." Jensen stares at the beige walls of his office and spins idly in his computer chair. Twice clockwise. Stop. Three times in the other direction. Stop.

"And we can't go back?" Christian pauses. "Aw shit, man. The girl that was dancing in the cage—hot, tiny brunette chick?" 

Yeah, there was her—in the womens' bathroom—and the tall, blond from the corner table who begged Jensen to fuck him before they'd even gotten to the guy's apartment. He doesn't need to tell Christian about that guy. 

Henry's is definitely out. 

"That place over on King Street—the new brewery?" 

"Gretchen's still a waitress there." 

"Social?" 

"The _owner_ , Chris." 

His friend groans. "Okay, how about that dive bar over on Broad? Jack's always begging us to go and I'm pretty sure there's no one there you'd even know, let alone fucked." 

Jensen thinks back and comes up clean. 

"Sure, why not?"

* * *

The dive, the Porthouse, is exactly that. Nothing much to talk about, but there's plenty of cheap beer and Christian seems way too comfortable in the light crowd. It's pretty clear that none of the Porthouse's customers have ever shopped at Saks or gotten reservations at Torch, but after three beers and the first acoustic set, Jensen's too mellow to care.

"Guess I found the perfect hang out, huh?" 

Christian is lazing back in their booth, sprawling like he owns the beat up benches and scratched table. The king in his shabby castle. 

"Enough beer to go around, the gig's not that bad, and you're not trying to fuck the next pair of killer legs or hot ass that walks by. It's like my garden of fucking Eden, man." 

"If you say so." 

He never guessed that Christian's ideal hangout would be the one place where Jensen wasn't hitting on everyone—not that he needs to try overly hard. Here, everyone's minding their own business and having a good time. There are no bouncers to impress in order to cross the velvet rope, and no one's clamoring for the bartender's attention with flirty eyes and cleavage barely contained in tight tops. It's all so normal that Jensen drinks more to banish the strange feeling in his stomach. 

Five beers into the night and Jensen's getting antsy. His right leg is bouncing steadily but Christian doesn't notice thanks to the musician's bass. It's early enough that the clubs on the other side of the city are still open. With one cab ride he could be on familiar ground with his choice of willing partners and an outlet for his nervous tics. 

Jensen leans over to shove at Christian when, over the strumming and singing from the stage, a loud laugh catches his attention. The rough and rugged bartender is red-faced and chuckling, but the laugh belongs to the younger man next to him. He's tall, broad shouldered, shaggy haired, and adorable—the complete opposite of what Jensen's looking for. There's nothing overly-pretty, twinkish, or high-maintenance about this guy—no signs pointing to "fuck me now, _stud_ "—but Jensen's eyes won't take the hint to move on. Jensen's stuck just watching while the guy shifts racks of glasses, rolls up his sleeves, and pulls pints from the colorful draught taps; he's oblivious until Christian thunks him on the shoulder. 

“You ready to head out, man?” 

Jensen hadn't even noticed the singer packing up or the house lights getting brighter. He nods and stands. The guy is occupied with wiping the bar down, but he looks up suddenly and his eyes find Jensen's with a quick certainty, like he's been able to feel Jensen's stare all night. 

“Hey, Jensen!” Christian yanks on his sleeve and he nearly tumbles over a wayward chair. “Easy there. You all set?” 

When Jensen turns back, he's no longer being watched so he trails Christian to the door, more carefully this time. 

“Yeah, let's get out of here.”

* * *

When he's back in the barely furnished, sterile apartment graciously paid for by Ackles Acquisitions, Jensen pulls out his journal but flips right to the picture stuck inside the front cover. The kid's immortalized smile has a matching one pulling reflexively at Jensen's lips.

"Checked out this new place tonight with Chris," he begins, settling cross-legged on the bed. The cicadas outside chirp in a constant, low drone as Jensen talks. Hushed words meant only for the boy in the photograph.

* * *

* * *

_“JR!”_

_Hearing the screech, JR prepared himself for the tiny onslaught. Jared ran right into him as soon as he rounded the corner and he toppled to the floor with the excited four year old._

_“You missed my birthday.”_

_Jared pouted from his place sitting atop JR's legs._

_“Why do you think I'm here, runt?”_

_“Did you bring me a present?”_

_“Maybe,” JR reached up to tickle and tease the boy. Jared squealed and tried to fend off JR's attack, but he tumbled over onto the carpet, laughing._

_“JR, stop!” Jared yelled when he caught his breath. He beamed up and unleashed his dastardly puppy-eyes on JR._

_“It's in the kitchen,” JR gave in quickly, unable to resist the kid's pout. Jared tore out of the room and JR could hear him ripping through the shiny wrapping paper that he had carefully folded and taped himself._

_Oh well._

_The excited shouts made up for the destruction. JR sat up and listened to the childish glee coming from the kitchen until Jared dashed back with his box. Shredded blue paper was clinging tenuously to the cardboard and Jared plunked his gift between them on the carpet._

_“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! Those are my favorite!”_

_JR had begged his momma to buy the comic book and cassette tape when he'd seen them at the toy store. Donna hadn't even blinked when he said they were for Jared - she'd just smiled and told J.R. to pick out whatever he wanted. Another book and three action figures later, JR had the perfect birthday presents._

_Jared held the comic book out to JR. “Will you read it to me?”_

_“You don't want to listen to the tape?”_

_“No, you can do Splinter's voice better. Please?”_

_They settled side by side on their stomachs, spreading out Jared's gifts on the soft carpet. JR's voice changed for each character, imitating what he saw on the cartoons, and he could feel Jared shake with giggles every time he gets to shout_ 'Cowabunga, dudes _!'_

* * *

The job is the same, day in and day out. Jensen says the same things, mutters the same mundane greetings to the people he passes. He pushes the buttons on the elevator in the same order every day - once for the fifth floor, his office, and the 'close door' button twice. The same breakfast is on his desk, waiting—cinnamon raisin bagel with honey cream cheese—and he shoots Elizabeth the same, grateful smile when he shuts his door.

It's easier not to think about what he's doing. The day goes by faster this way and Jensen doesn't tamper with the order. Get through one day and start on the next. 

Maybe this is where the routines started.

Going out is just another piece of his routine these days. One he's broken the last few nights.

But at lunch, Christian is doing his best to change that. He's surprised, choking on pico de gallo when Jensen offers his own suggestion.

“Wait, the Porthouse?” 

“Did I stutter?” 

Jensen doesn't need to look up to feel Christian's glare from across the table. 

“No, but that's twice in less than a week. You feelin' all right?” 

“That place was chill, man,” Jensen waves off his best friend's confusion. “I'm in the mood for something easy. Not _someone_ easy,” he adds quickly before Christian can crack a lame joke. 

Christian stares at him, considering, and folds a slice of his quesadilla, biting and chewing. His serious expression is ruined by the melting pepper-jack hanging from the corner of his mouth.

* * *

It's not about luck, Jensen keeps telling himself. Given that the guy works here, it shouldn't be a big deal—or make Jensen feel like his heart's light with helium—to walk into the Porthouse and spot the tall guy within two minutes.

Jensen's memory hasn't exaggerated; the bartender's still tall, goofy, and unfortunately already occupied. A gaggle of I-Felta-Thi's—or whatever—are clustered around the end of the concrete bar.

"You're kidding, right?" Christian tracks Jensen's line of sight. "We came here for that? Not really the type you go for."

He should say that he's not _going_ for anyone—thank you—but Christian is right. Jensen's never gotten wound up for the great smile-and-dimples combo, or stalk limbs and shaggy hair. It's always been the killer ass or supermodel face reeling him in.

The pause hangs too long and Christian sees right through him.

"Go on and talk to him." Christian shoves past him, heading towards the dimly lit stage where the house band is setting up. "Find me when you come to your senses."

It's a Thursday night, but the floor's getting crowded. Jensen eases through the press of bodies and plops down on an empty stool.

"Get'cha something?"

Not the bartender he's hoping for, but Jensen gives the middle-aged leather mama a smile—not returned—and orders a beer. The lager splashes over the rim when she thunks the pint glass down.

Christian wanders over between songs, pointedly glancing between Jensen and the male bartender. He hasn't traveled down to Jensen's end of the bar yet, and maybe it's the alcohol, but Jensen swears he's seen the guy look over more than once. Probably wondering why the hell a customer's been nursing the same pint for nearly an hour and a half.

Christian, on the other hand, has gone through four.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I just want to drink," Jensen mopes.

"Beer's probably piss by now."

Yeah, probably. The glass is room-temperature and the lager smells stale.

"But have it your way. I'm gonna help the guitarist with his blues tracks." Christian pauses. "You gonna miss me?"

"Call you tomorrow, Chris."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

He's gone into the crowd gathered around the corner stage. Jensen cracks his knuckles against the bar—old nervous tic—when the empty space in his periphery is suddenly filled.

"It's just a beer, man."

Shaggy-hair is smirking, leaning over the bar and into Jensen's little corner of solitude.

"Excuse me?"

"You've been staring at your glass like it holds the meaning of life. From where I'm standing, it just looks like a beer."

Slack-jawed confusion is not one of those expressions you'd find listed under "enticing" on Wikipedia, but Jensen's pulling it off in spectacular fashion.

"Warm beer, too," the guy adds with a wrinkle creasing his pointed nose. "Did you want another drink?"

He doesn't catch on to the fact that Jensen's not saying anything, just staring baffled at the man who has unknowingly shuffled some piece of Jensen's jigsawed life—and who won't shut up, apparently.

"Better order something easy, though, like a beer. I can't really make anything complicated--oh, but I did light some cheap vodka on fire last week. Gave some of my customers a scare, and I think one guy thought I'd burned off his eyebrows, but he was fine. But seriously, did you want something?"

"Um—"

"Order from me, because Mona," he indicates the leather mama, "doesn't think you like her very much and—"

"Hey!" Jensen finally shouts, though with the ambient noise, the guy just barely hears him. "Are you okay?" Talking that much, that rapidly, could be a sign of _total_ crazy, or a some kind of sickness, Jensen figures.

That's when he notices the guy's eyes—beautifully hazel—darting in every which direction so as not to look Jensen straight in the eye. And then he gets it. The guy is _nervous_. He's ducking his head shyly, turning away when two women in straw cowboy hats insinuate themselves between Jensen's stool and the wall, flashing smiles and skin, trying to get service. Jensen appraises the man as he grabs two brown bottles from a fridge—low calorie, no taste crap—and hands them over to waiting, manicured hands. No conversation, just a simple transaction, and Jensen's heart starts doing that singing-in-the-rain kind of happy dance. Either Jensen is that scary, he makes bartenders ramble, or this guy's interested.

But that poses the problem of how Jensen's supposed to go about this pick-up. His normal opening maneuver, buying him a drink, is off the table already. Probably pretty tacky to offer a drink to the guy who is serving them.

"Sorry about that—it's pretty busy for a Thursday." Shy-smile is back, taking no notice of the two disappointed man-eaters slinking away from the bar. "Are you here with anyone?"

This smile is better than the shy one, Jensen decides. It's mostly nervous, a dash of embarrassment, but with a clear quirk of hope. Apparently no grand schemes are needed. It's as simple as a conversation—a _real_ one.

"No, I'm not." For flirting purposes, Christian matters as much as a single raindrop in a Texas storm. "And hey, another beer sounds great."

"Which one?"

Jensen's smile is genuine—it's a night full of surprises. "Whichever one is your favorite. I'm Jensen, by the way," he adds as the guy pulls a brightly painted wooden tap to release a cold stream of hoppy goodness.

"I'm Jay—nice to meet you."

The beer Jay picked is great—crisp and cool, the bitter hops balanced with a sweeter roast. Hazel eyes follow the movements of his lips where they touch the glass rim; Jensen can't resist a little lick to the corner of his mouth when he sets the glass down.

"So, you were in here the other night," Jay says.

"Yeah, it was my first time. Have a buddy who's been here a few times, though."

"Where do you usually hang out?"

Remarkably, Jay's not distracted by the clamor around him. That or he's ignoring it. Mona seems to be quite a force, handling a bar lined with patrons single handedly.

"Here and there," Jensen teases. If he's got Jay's full attention, he's going to _use_ it. "Mostly over towards the West End—Light, McDaniel's, the DBC. Sometimes I'll hit the clubs downtown."

"Cool. I've never been over there."

"What's keeping you?"

"School, mostly." Jay shrugs, leaning both elbows on the bar, face that much closer to Jensen's. In the low light, it helps him pick out the details he hasn't noticed, like the moles strategically placed by genetics for greater effect, and tanned skin. "I just moved back to town for grad school. And, you know, working here."

School and work puts Jay at the opposite end of the social scheme from Jensen. And he doesn't mind—somehow it's almost a relief that Jay hasn't hung around the same meat-markets Jensen's been prowling for years.

"What are you studying?"

"Trying to get my Masters in Social Work."

A wannabe saint, Jensen imagines, wrapped in a tall, introverted package. 

"Sounds like admirable work." 

And clearly he hasn't had enough to drink. _Admirable work_? Really? But Jay looks pleased, taking it as a compliment instead of a brush-off.

"Thanks—I just, there's a lot I want to do with it."

"A big man with big plans, huh?"

Jensen should stop talking, immediately. Where the fuck was Christian to help him shut up? Again Jay blushes. Huh. Maybe he ought to just go with this whole talking-without-thinking-first thing. Silly—albeit honest—comments that would have gotten him ditched at McDaniel's have the opposite effect on Jay.

They talk until the crowd starts to thin. Christian leaves at some point, passing on his way out the door and thumping Jensen's shoulder. The conversation doesn't stray from casual, but there are enough subtle touches and inflections for Jensen to know where the night could end up. From the other end of the bar, Mona sends a glare their way and Jay guiltily bites his bottom lip. 

"I should really go and help—closing and all that." Jay hesitates, mouth ready to lead the night in a whole new direction, and Jensen feels an unusual wave of apprehension where he'd normally be all-systems-go. The familiar urge to rush things along isn't there.

"Do you work tomorrow night?"

"Okay—" Jay stops, shuts his mouth. There's an awkward moment, like he thought Jensen was going to ask something else. "Um, yeah. I meant, I'll be here. Does that mean you'll be here too?"

Chris is going to drop dead of shock, but that could at least be entertaining.

"Yeah." Jensen grins, shifting off the stool before Mona's stare gets any harsher. "I'll definitely be back."

It's not until he gets outside, air fresher without the haze of alcohol and cigarettes, that the night catches up. Just past midnight and he's heading home alone—and yet he's perfectly happy.

* * *

Christian doesn't drop dead, but he does sputter rather amusingly when he meets Jensen for lunch on Friday.

"I don't know what to say, man." Christian sighs.

"Um, that you'll go with me?"

"Oh—yeah, 'course I will." His friend's never quite mastered the whole chew-with-your-mouth-closed thing, and bits of cabbage drop from Christian's eggroll back onto the plate. "Three times this week. You don't miss the clubs? Did you get black-listed or something I should know about?"

"Nope, I'm good. Except for that one place where I did that thing with that guy?"

"That stripper?"

"Yeah," Jensen smirks with the memory. "I'm still banned from there, but that wasn't my fault."

"It's always the stripper's fault." Christian nods. "But you don't need to pretend with me. I know this is about that kid."

Jay can hardly be called a kid, but men approaching the thirty-year benchmark have their quirks. And Jensen doesn't try to deny it, just smiles over his General Tso's and rearranges the chopsticks in his fingers.

"Man, you're weird." Christian shakes his head. Jensen doesn't deny that either.

* * *

It's more crowded tonight. Jay's one of three bartenders—complete with a personal army of tiny cocktail waitresses—and Jensen has a hard time even getting arm's distance from the bar. Christian is already in tight with the house band—some sort of weird, musician mojo going on—so they spend most of their time to the left of the stage with a nearly unobstructed view of Jay hustling and bustling from taps to fridge to well. But he's not frazzled. Jensen can see Jay has a big smile for everyone stepping up, slinging drinks as carefree and easy as if he were playing ball in his backyard.

"Kid keeps looking at you." Christian yells over the music. Jensen already knows, but his damn cheeks flush anyway. "Aw, Jen's got a crush. Excuse me while I go throw up in my beer."

No comeback's going to settle Christian, so he says nothing. The band's got the crowd singin' and swayin' to classic covers. Then, a twangy take on "Sweet Caroline" and everyone drops what they're doing to sing along. Seizing the opportunity, Jensen squeezes past happy, drunken bodies until he's facing Jay at the bar.

"Hey—I'm glad you made it." Jay brings a bottle of beer to his lips and takes a long swallow. Mona and the other bartender are similarly using the break.

"That kind of night, huh?"

"Been like this since happy hour." He finishes the beer and tosses it in the barrel serving as a trash bin. Jay's dressed like he could be out in the crowd. Mandatory boots, jeans with the kind of wear you don't have to pay extra for, and a dark t-shirt tight across his shoulders. Only the white rag stuck in his back pocket gives him away.

"Got plans for the weekend?"

"Not really much besides sleeping in." Jay shakes his head, eyes finding Jensen's and quickly moving away.

"Sounds exactly like what I have planned." Jensen teases.

Jay's wearing a smile that says all the right things, but deep down, Jensen's got a niggling feeling that things shouldn't go this way. Jay's a great guy to talk to—for once, he doesn't want to chance ruining that rapport. On the other hand, last night's fantasy had definitely starred one shaggy-haired bartender, and Jensen's body really wouldn't mind the opportunity to turn that into reality. And then there's the problem of how to ask. Jensen's no expert on normal relationships and dating, and he's _mostly_ pretty sure a simple "my place or yours" isn't what Jay wants to—

"Did you want to maybe come over after closing?" Jay beats him to it, blurting the question before Jensen's finished with his convoluted line of thought. "To my apartment, I mean—it's not very far, but I have some great movies. Well, I think they're great, but I have video games too, and coffee."

There goes the nervous chattering again. "Hey—that sounds great," Jensen says, just as Neil Diamond's classic is winding down. Jay beams—there's no other way to put it—when he accepts.

"Awesome, I've just—" Jay stops as the bar is inundated with thirsty customers, privacy disappearing along with the song. "Hang around until close, and we can walk?"

Jensen tips his bottle in the universal 'sure, man' gesture, getting another smile, just as he's pushed back from the bar.

Christian takes one look at him and pretends to gag, but when his friend turns back to the stage, there's a funny sort of smile on his face Jensen can't place. After that, the time passes quickly with back-and-forth looks from the bar, and an unfamiliar anticipation in Jensen's stomach. He sips his next beer slowly, barely able to hear the band over his ridiculously indecisive inner voice.

He's going with Jay—no doubts there—but Jensen has no idea what he wants. Or what Jay really wants. Maybe it is just a chance to hang out where Jensen's not paying Jay for drinks and there aren't at least twenty other people crowded around listening to their conversations. And wasn't he just thinking about how he wanted to get to know Jay better? What better way than seeing his apartment? 

He gets nowhere trying to argue with himself, so he stops. Risking another glance in Jay's direction, he finds the guy looking right back. They smile at the same time.

* * *

"Sorry about the mess."

Jay flicks on a few lights and Jensen sees that the place really is this side of a disaster area. Funny, it's almost a relief that Jay's even honest about this, considering most people are just fishing for compliments when someone claims their apartment is a total mess.

"I had a full week at school, plus an extra shift at the bar—" He goes around stacking books and pushing papers out of the way to reveal a tan sofa. The clutter is all notebooks and binders, a few empty soda cans precariously balanced on stapled stacks. The laptop on the desk is on sleep mode, probably grateful to get a night off.

Jensen likes the apartment immediately. Someone _lives_ here.

"Dude, it's fine," Jensen says. "You should see my place." His stark, anonymous apartment ranks lower than Jay's well-loved abode any day.

"Right—so, movie?"

Jensen nods, noticing the warm flush that spreads across Jay's cheeks. "Pick something good. I haven't seen anything in a while."

They settle on _Quantum of Solace_ , but before the opening song, Jay's up off the couch.

"You want a beer? I think I have a six-pack of something."

Jensen hears the fridge open and close, then the thunk of cabinetry, and Jay reappears a few minutes later. He sits down with two bottles, and Jensen immediately notices that his eyes are duller than they were before. His heart sinks towards his stomach.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Mmmhmm, fine." Jay smiles, but it's not as powerful now. 

Shifting closer on the couch, Jensen tries to get Jay to look at him again, but his eyes are fixed on the screen as he polishes off half a beer in less than thirty seconds.

Jensen's brain throws up a red flag.

"Jay," he gets closer until their thighs are touching. Jay could have changed his mind. "Do you need me to leave?"

"No—'course not." Jay turns and Jensen can definitely smell the alcohol on his breath now. Not just beer, but something sharper as well.

"What have you been drinking, man?"

"Couple people bought me shots tonight," Jay says, but his fingers are fidgeting where they hang between his knees. "I couldn't say no to all of them."

"And just now?"

A wry sort of laugh. "Calming my nerves."

Jensen tries stay casual, but there's an edge to his voice. "You don't have to be nervous."

He's in uncharted territory. Usually tongues are down throats before he crosses the threshold. Jay isn't smiling, eyes wavering between Jensen and the wall like he's gathering courage. Before Jensen can reassure him again, Jay picks up his beer and finishes it.

"Seriously, I can—"

And then Jay's on him, tall frame invading Jensen's half of the couch, and trying to kiss him uncoordinatedly. Hands grab at bad angles—Jay nearly elbows his groin—and it's too wet. The kiss is ninety proof—sharp taste of vodka slipping onto Jensen's tongue. He wants Jay, he does, but nothing like this mix of drunk and desperate. So he tries to slow the kiss down, gentle press of mouths getting to know one another. It could be perfect, Jensen knows, if only—

Only Jay's suddenly not kissing him back. Shocked, Jensen leans away.

"Jay?"

Jay's trying hard not to fly apart. He stares up at the blades of the ceiling fan with bleary eyes, biting his lip.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't—Jensen, 'm sorry." Whatever Jay has had to drink soaked in; his words are beginning to slur. He blinks, almost surprised to see Jensen still sitting there. "You should—should, oh God."

He flops down onto the couch cushions, breathing heavily or sobbing, Jensen can't hear which. When he reaches for Jay's back, the guy flinches so Jensen waits. Waits for nearly five minutes until he realizes Jay's passed out. He must have drank more than Jensen thought, or was long past the point of exhaustion from a hectic week.

His sinking heart has bottomed out, and part of him is screaming to just get up and go. But he finds himself pulling off Jay's boots and tucking all his limbs onto the couch. There's a woven blanket handy so he spreads it over Jay's alcohol-heavy form, and he leaves a bottle of water from the fridge on the coffee table.

Even when Jensen's done all he can, it doesn't feel like enough. The entire situation is so wrong, he'd be laughing in delirium if it wouldn't wake Jay up. Jensen knows that whatever's happened, Jay doesn't want to get up and face it right now. He slinks out of the apartment and clicks the door lock behind him.

Time. He needs time.

* * *

_"Jensen, you have to get out of the car."_

_At the old age of nine, JR didn't have to do anything. He crossed his arms and sulked in the backseat._

_"Don't make me get your father, young man."_

_It was a dreary day and JR had been shoved into a suit early that morning, then bundled into the car. His parents hadn't spoken the entire ride to San Antonio, and they wouldn't even let JR play with the radio._

_"Jensen, please." Donna's voice cracked on the last word and Jensen looked up._

_"Where's Jared?"_

_"Honey—"_

_"No! I'm not getting out until you tell me."_

_"Alan," he heard his mother call over to his dad, and heard heavier footsteps crossing the asphalt. "I cant—you have to deal with him."_

_"It's okay," Dad said, voice much calmer, but very sad. "I'll talk to him."_

_Mom walked away with tears in her eyes, straightening her black dress with nervous hands._

_"Hey, JR." Dad climbed in the backseat. "I know this is tough for all of us, but you need to come out."_

_"Dad—" JR started. "Where's Jared?"_

_"He's gone."_

_"But when is he coming back?" He already asked Dad all of this a few days ago when Mom got off the phone and starting crying. Dad told him they wouldn't be able to see the Andersons any more._

_"He's not, JR."_

_That was a lie, it had to be. Jared always came back. The Andersons went to Hawaii for Christmas, but they came back. Jared was visiting his cousins over JR's birthday last year, but his mom drove him to the Ackles the next weekend so Jared could give JR his present._

_"I know it's hard to understand, but when someone dies—"_

_"Jared's not dead," he insisted with a full pout. His G.I. Joes died in combat, but then you could pick them back up and start a new game. When Mario fell off a cliff too many times in a row, you restarted the game. But maybe it didn't mean the same thing when it happened to a person._

_Dad looked like he couldn't find anything else to say, but he took JR's hand and pulled him out of the car._

_And JR went, still hoping Jared would pop around a corner at any minute._

* * *

Jensen doesn't tell Christian what happened. The annoying voices in his head don't need anyone agreeing with them. In fact, Jensen barely leaves his apartment all weekend. There's enough football on Sunday to distract him, and he lazes the day away in front of his flatscreen, hi-def combo, but Saturday is just plain weird.

His phone rings at noon but he doesn't answer. He's not tired, but he hasn't gotten out of bed. In his mind, Jensen replays last night, from the mutual anticipation at the bar to Jay's own brand of freaking out. Jensen combs through every moment, but he can't find where it all turned for the worse. He thought—well, he's not sure what he thought. That Jay was into him, that things were going somewhere. Somewhere Jensen wasn't really used to, but was looking forward to.

He only makes it as far as the couch when he gets up. He's existing, Jensen thinks, but he's not _doing_ anything. It's been that way for years now. Nothing memorable, he's always telling his photograph, and it's the truth. Life has thrown many things his way since college, but after Mom died, nothing's stuck.

Except for Jay. The bartender's stuck in his head, has a tenuous hold on Jensen's heart.

He is so fucked.

* * *

Getting out of his office on Monday afternoon is a relief. Jensen locks the door at two, tells Elizabeth he won't be back after his meeting, and heads across the city.

The meeting's not a big deal—coffee with a former client who has some key information Jensen's meant to pry out of him. Another kind of act he bullshits through until the guy leaves, smiling like he got the better end of the deal. Jensen doesn't particularly care, or feel satisfied, that the guy's wrong.

There's a constant flow of people through the coffee shop seeking relief from the afternoon slump. Jensen sits, slowly draining his own caffeine and sugar combination, until a bag knocks into his chair and a flailing limb reaches out to steady the bag's owner.

"Shit, I'm sorry—oh."

Oh _indeed_ , Jensen's brain snarks.

"Jensen! I didn't see you and this bag—" Jay glares at the offending item, "is way too heavy."

"It's okay. I don't bruise easily."

"Here for coffee? I mean, of course you're here for coffee—unless you're more into those green tea smoothies. They're pretty good too. What I meant was, how are you?"

Jensen doesn't stumble over the non sequitur. "I'm great." But he _does_ lie with a sunny smile. "Just finished a meeting and I'm taking the afternoon off."

"Cool," Jay wavers. "Do you mind—can I join you?"

Before he opens his mouth to answer, a short, slender man slides up to the table.

"Jay, were we supposed to meet today?" The guy glances between them, oblivious to what he's interrupting. "Thought it was tomorrow."

"No, you're right." Jensen hates that Jay becomes inexplicably uncomfortable—reminds him too much of Friday night. "Ed, this is Jensen. Jensen, Ed and I are teaching assistants for the same class."

Ed's eyes stretch wide at the drop of Jensen's name. Jay folds himself into a tiny cafe chair, and Ed gets the wrong idea—thinking introduction equals invitation—and snags the remaining chair.

"Jensen, right." Ed says like he _knows_ something. Which pisses him off since Jensen's still a little lost. "Nice to meet you."

The conversation that follows is normal, but the words fall awkward on Jensen's ears. Ed's eyes are fixed on Jensen while Jay rambles about his classes. Jensen finds Jay strangely adorable when he's flushed and animated, and he wants to listen but it's hard with a third wheel distracting him.

"So, you two meet at the Porthouse?" Jay pausing for breath gives Ed an opening. "That's a chill place."

"Guess so." Jay answers for both of them, fingers busy making a mosaic with the colored packets of sweetener.

"Good," but Ed's only focused on Jensen. "Jay needs to get out more, so show him a good time."

Jensen doesn't say that he'd rather stay _in_ with Jared and have a _good time_. Jay seems like he wants to slink under the table and disappear.

"Ed, come on, man."

"Nah, I'm serious. You work too hard—tell him, Jensen."

He'll do no such thing. "Work is an accomplishment," he mimics his dad. "Some people enjoy that."

Ed throws the comment aside. "But everyone should be able to let loose, get out once in a while. You know what I'm talking about, right? And in Jay's case, he really needs to get laid."

Chris could pull a straight face if he said something like that to Jensen. They know each other through thick and thicker—up, down, and sideways. But he gets the impression there's no such familiarity between Ed and Jay. If it is, it's painfully one-sided. Jensen bristles and Jay's cheeks flush red.

"I'm sure Jay does what he wants. Nothing wrong—"

"No, man." God, this guy's dense. "I mean Jay _finally_ needs to get laid or he's gonna end up as the only virgin graduating from—"

"Dude," Jay snaps, and the anger in his eyes is more attractive to Jensen than the guy who was just sitting back and taking it from this asshole. "I fucking told you—"

"You're not a virgin, right." Ed drawls with boredom, but at the same time sounds like he's spoiling for conflict. He narrows his eyes on Jensen. "Jay's just waiting for 'the one'. Did he tell you that?" His words are teasing but the tone is pure scorn. "Jay's our own little romantic—"

Jensen's chair scrapes harshly as he pushes back and stands. "Well, I need to run." He draws Jay's eyes from where they're concentrating on the cracks in the tabletop. "Jay, are you coming?"

That gets him raised eyebrows and a small, hopeful smile. Jay slings his bag over his shoulder, matching Jensen's stride out of the shop and leaving Ed behind with an unattractively gaping mouth. But once they're on the sidewalk, Jay's fingers pull nervously at his strap.

"I can—thanks, I guess."

The gratitude seems out of place. If Jensen had sat there another few minutes, he would have committed assault.

"Do you want a ride somewhere? I don't have to be anywhere."

"Are you sure?" And Jensen nods. "A ride to my apartment would be great."

In the car, things are quiet and smooth until Jensen sees Jay's long face from the corner of his eye. Jensen's not sure which deity is getting its jollies by sending so much awkward shit their way, but he's fucking sick of it. Which is clear when he smacks the steering wheel and Jay flinches.

"Are you seriously—"

But Jay opens his mouth at the same time. "Sorry about Ed. He's under the impression that hanging out with a group every once in a while makes us friends."

"You don't have to apologize for him. But why does he think he knows so much about you?"

Jay shrugs. "Shared way too much during a drinking game, probably. And he asked me out once." He tries to lay it as a joke, but Jensen knows it makes him uncomfortable. "It's true though, what he said—"

"It's not any of his fucking business." Jensen surprises himself with his vehemence. Jay's not asking to be defended.

"I know." Jay's tone softens and his fingers curl over Jensen's knee, intimate like he's been diffusing Jensen for years. "But I didn't want to lie to you."

The clear honesty relaxes Jensen. He smiles, but Jay's leg is still bouncing a rhythm on the floorboards.

"Thanks for the other night, by the way."

"Yeah, what happened? I thought we—"

"It wasn't you," Jay says, shaking his head. "It was nothing."

"Jay, that wasn't _nothing_. You were fine at the bar." Jensen doesn't let Jay protest. "You can tell me."

"I _am_ fine. Just got nervous."

"Because of me?"

"Because—weren't you listening to Ed?"

Jensen swallows. "Not particularly." Jay shakes his head disbelievingly. "Listen, I don't care." Jensen's a little shocked that he doesn't, but it's true. "I'm not gonna tell you how to live your life." In that, Jensen barely has a leg to stand on considering his own twists.

Jay turns back towards him, not quite able to hide his surprise quickly enough. Jensen feels that familiar ease coming back, the illusion that there's more here than he knows what to do with. But before he gets a chance to say anything, they're at Jay's apartment and the guy's scrambling to get out of the car.

"Thanks for the ride—and, you know."

"Hey," Jensen calls out before Jay can move away. "Are you busy this week?"

"I have a crazy schedule, but I'm working Wednesday night."

Jay doesn't even need to ask; the catch in his voice is enough.

"I'll see you then."

* * *

There are two messages on his cell from Christian when Jensen gets home. Monday nights mean going out. Or they used to.

Jensen rubs his face and grabs a beer from the stainless steel refrigerator. It's only been a week since he met Jay, and his life is already different. Not turned upside down—more like someone's changed the filter and he's beginning to see everything a little off-kilter. When he's around Jay, things are usually calmer: he can talk without being judged, laugh without looking over his shoulder. Feel without the inevitable end. But away from him, there's a frantic beating in his chest.

His phone beckons, the key to a night out, the way things used to be. There's a strange sensation that he's drowning in air, body unable to pull itself in any one direction. He's holding his breath waiting for something to break and show him the way out.

In the bedroom, the only thing he can do is find his journal. Instead of writing, he pulls Jared's picture from the cover and sets it in a frame on his nightstand. And he does the only thing that's felt right since college.

* * *

_"So it's Jensen now, is it?" Dr. Farrand looked at her notes. "Why the switch?"_

_"It's my name."_

_"It's what your mother always called you," his therapist corrected. "I understand why you'd—"_

_"Yeah, and it's not a big deal." The sullen twenty year old decisively closed that door. Sometimes the look on Dr. Farrand's face made Jensen think he was one of her more frustrating patients. Personally he wasn't so conceited._

_"You're right," she was humoring him. "What does your dad think about it?"_

_"He doesn't care." Dr. Farrand didn't need to know that Dad had started calling him Jensen too. He wasn't even sure who started it._

_"How are classes?" She switched attacks on a dime._

_"Easy." Jensen had backtracked. His courses weren't holding his focus, and when he sat for hours in his campus suite just staring at the walls, nothing was getting accomplished. This semester, the second since his mom's funeral, brought a lighter load. Random classes meant to give him some breathing room, draw him out of the funk._

_"And what about Jared?"_

_Jensen's back went ramrod straight in the lounge chair. He let Dr. Farrand ask him anything, poke and prod with words and carefully structured questions, but Jared was the one thing he'd rather hide than tell._

_"You've thought about him a lot since your mom passed."_

_"She kept bringing him up." That was true enough. The longer his mom was in the hospital, the more the memories seemed to surface. And Jared Anderson was a memory Jensen had buried deep down._

_"He was important."_

_He wanted to say that Jared was more important than she'd ever realize, but it wasn't her place to know. That sort of thing wasn't done anymore and Jensen wasn't going to open his family, and Jared's, to ridicule now._

_"But it goes beyond that, doesn't it? Your dad mentioned that you found some old pictures of Jared and his family when you were going through your mom's things."_

_Jensen had found pictures, and letters. Old contracts drawn between friends with as much legal footing as a kid's lemonade stand. One picture in particular that sent such warm feelings through Jensen, he'd immediately pocketed the print. He had lost Jared for so many years, the memory misplaced by a young boy who hadn't known how to mourn his best friend. Maybe now he would be able to find him again._

_He wasn't sure how much his dad told Dr. Farrand. Whatever she thought, Jared wasn't an imaginary friend. He was always there in Jensen's mind, waiting in his journal when he got home from class. And despite Dr. Farrand's three-quarter hour attempts, Jared was the only one he ever felt like talking to._

_But that day, Dr. Farrand asked the one question Jensen's dad had been avoiding._

_"Does it help?"_

_"Yeah." Jensen's eyes focused. "It does."_

* * *

On Wednesday night, the first thing he sees when he pushes through the Porthouse's heavy oak door is Jay's big smile. Dimples and genuine happiness finding Jensen across the uncrowded room. No band tonight to draw the party crowd, just regulars staked out in their favorite corners and booths.

Mona's working the half full bar and Jay's stacking glasses. His palms are heated from the steaming, freshly washed glasses when he grabs Jensen's hand over the counter.

"Hey, man." Jay lets him go, pulling a box off the end of the bar and offering the spot to Jensen. "It's gonna be quiet here tonight and I can probably get off early."

There's another invitation in that and Jensen nods, takes the pint Jay produces and settles on a stool. The nervous chatter starts as soon as Jensen swallows.

"We didn't really get a chance to talk much at the coffee shop, but I'm glad I met up with you. Was a little worried you wouldn't come back here after—"

"Jay." He covers the bartender's hand with his. "The reason I left that night wasn't because I didn't care. Believe me, I know how much waking up after a night like that sucks. I was just trying to help."

"Oh—I mean, I think I knew that."

"Good." Jensen grins. "'Cause I just want to spend time with you. It's been a little crazy so far."

"Good." Jay echoes. He holds up a glass of Coke. "And I promise, no more passing out. No alcohol, just caffeine."

Jay serves the few customers that Mona can't handle. And he talks, nervous rambling settles into story-telling. Jensen listens carefully to every detail—how Jay moved around the country with his aunt and uncle, the way he's been able to pay his way through school—and shares a few of his own, loving the way Jay takes it all in. Most of his dates don't get anything beyond his name and his body, and the apathy is usually mutual. This kind of focus, keen and genuine interest, fills his heart. A place that hasn't been stimulated in years.

He stands taller tonight, Jensen notices, resolve or ease straightening his spine. Jay hunches to talk to Jensen, creating a private place for them at the bar while everyone else passes by. Finally, Mona's got the place in hand and she flicks Jay with a towel to hurry his ass out the door. Jensen's laughing and Jay's nursing his abused leg, scowling at his coworker while he cleans up and clocks out.

They drive this time, no chance to talk across the five blocks between the Porthouse and Jay's place. The clutter when they walk inside is familiar, if haphazardly cleaned up since the last time. They're close together in the tiny hallway.

Jay looks straight into Jensen's eyes. "Want a beer?"

"Not really."

"Okay."

The move is Jensen's this time. He presses his lips against Jay's—a threshold kiss—and persuades gently. Nothing desperate, no tongue-to-tonsils race. More like the first kiss they were meant to have. Butterflies fluttering in Jensen's stomach, eyes closed, and hands eager to find where on Jay's body they'll fit best.

Hips to start, when Jensen opens his mouth enough to pull at Jay's lower lip. Then the small of Jay's back to reel him deeper. Finally wrapped all the way around as Jay angles down and presses his tongue into Jensen's mouth.

When he leans away their noses bump and Jay laughs, the best sound Jensen's heard all week. Jay grabs his hand and suddenly they're back on the couch.

"How about a movie?" Jensen suggests, more than willing to take this as slow as Jay—

But Jay pulls him forward—that's a _no_ on the movie—and picks up where the previous kiss left off. It hardly matters but Jensen knows Jay was telling the truth—he's certainly not a virgin in everything. The way he fits his body around Jensen's, moving them down on the cushions without breaking their kiss. His tongue rolls with Jensen's, and suddenly Jensen is the one out of his depth. Jay infuses one kiss with more passion and intent than Jensen spends on a dozen meaningless flings. In this, he's the novice and Jay is leading him. Every time Jensen tries to slow the pace, Jay steps it up. There's no arguing with the press of Jay's hips or the way in which his hands slip under Jensen's shirt and find ticklish skin.

It's all so insistent that Jensen starts wondering if Jay's pushing himself through it. The last thing Jay seems to want to do is stop and think.

But you can't put a block on thoughts. Jensen's tried unsuccessfully. They get the better of Jay when he gasps against Jensen's lips and breaks off. He's propped on his elbows, expression shifting as if he's fighting with himself. Whatever this is, it isn't about Jensen, so he keeps his hands where they're lightly stroking Jay's sides, a reminder that he's _there_ no matter how the internal struggle ends up.

"Can I," Jay starts, pinning his audience of one. "I need to tell you something."

"You already told me—"

"It's not about that." Jay shakes his head. "Well, sort of."

He sits back on his heels and pulls Jensen up. The silence goes on long enough that Jensen thinks this is it. Jay won't meet his eyes and as important as this feels, Jensen's heart can't take the beating of another rejection from this guy.

"Jay, I want you to like me."

"Jensen, that's not—"

"Let me be close to you, please. Don't pull away." Jensen shifts closer to add physical weight to the words.

He thinks he might have missed something crucial because Jay smiles soft and sincere. "I'm not trying to. Jensen, you're the first one—"

"First one of what?"

"The first person I've even considered sharing this with," Jay answers. "And I think I owe you the truth for all the chances you've given me, the way you kept trying, even after..." He lets that thought slip away and picks up a new thread. "My parents—they died in a car crash when I was almost six."

Saying 'I'm sorry' might be cliche, but Jensen knows what it's like to lose a parent. In the rest of his life, Jensen will never find anything to fill that particular void—no one can. But he keeps hold of Jay's hand, thumb moving against the soft skin. Jay reaches behind him and grabs a small box that was camouflaged by various papers, another piece of the cluttered chaos. Inside are more papers, but they way Jay touches the contents signifies something much more meaningful.

"I didn't get some of their things until high school, and I found a box with my mom's books and keepsakes." Jay handles the folded papers with a delicate touch, so much more precious than simple stock and ink. "She wrote me letters—telling me about my family, where we lived. And she wrote about the guy I was supposed to grow up and marry—everything she knew about him."

"A betrothal?" Jensen almost chokes. "You were—"

"Crazy, huh? His family was close to ours. I can remember a bit from when I was little, you know." Jay's eyes cloud over with happier memories. "A birthday here and there, presents. Big trips, but I'm fuzzy on the details."

"Do you remember the other boy?"

"Sometimes I think I do. I had no idea he was—" Jay pauses. "How do you explain that to a kid?"

Jensen doesn't know the answer to that. His parents hadn't told him until it was no longer a possibility. Jared had already been gone when his mom told him exactly who his best friend was meant to be.

"But she wrote that he was such a nice boy, and he loved me even then—she could tell, I guess. He brought me gifts all the time, always played with me even though I was a few years younger than he was. My mom said that no one could put a smile on my face like he could, and that it went both ways. And we—"

They were supposed to get the same _ever after_ that was ripped away from Jensen. He looks at Jay and he can see Jared's young smile, innocent and happy.

And then, the lines of time start to blur. He looks at Jay—and he can _see_ Jared. More than just an illusion; features blend together until the reality smacks Jensen in the face.

"God—it all sound ridiculous, doesn't it?" Jay laughs, but Jensen's gone still as a statue. "But we were meant for each other back then and maybe he's still out there. That's why I never—well, it wasn't 'saving myself' so much as it was just hoping."

Jensen can hardly force the words out of his throat.

"What was his name?"

Jay smiles fondly. "His name was JR."

The earth should stop spinning. The sky should fall and the ground should shake. But the clock on the wall chimes midnight and Jay—Jared, _Jay_ —keeps talking to him.

And Jensen can see that Jay doesn't even realize....

Jay looks over at him and seems to shake himself out of his wistfulness. The story is achingly familiar. Only backwards from that which Jensen's been telling himself for years. Jay is hanging onto his memory—the possibility—with everything he's got. But Jensen lost his future, fucking away his affections ever since.

"I didn't have much to hold onto after my parents died, so maybe I took the letters too seriously. And it's silly, right?" Jay doesn't notice that Jensen's barely breathing any longer, mistaking shock for attention. "It's a fantasy, something I don't need to be connected to anymore. I should just do this and get it over with."

Right there, Jensen's heart breaks. Jay looks so _ready_ , willing to throw away something he's wanted for years just because the world deems it 'silly'. Trusting Jensen with a gift that has unknowingly been his all along.

"Jensen?"

He's muttering to himself, oblivious to Jay's face crashing from hope to dejection. Jensen has no idea what he can say, how he's supposed to tell Jay that the man he's holding onto is gone. Jared Anderson's best friend doesn't exist anymore. Settling for Jensen—scarred and neurotic—really is _settling_ for someone so much less worthy.

Jay's face falls and it's as if all the muscles in his body go heavy.

"I thought—" he sighs. "You think it's pathetic."

"No." Jensen verbally stumbles. "No Jay, I don't—you should..." And it occurs to him that he can't fix this. Jay's looking at him like he expected this all along even though Jensen knows he felt otherwise. Resigned and devastated. Jensen is making it worse.

Not knowing what else to do, Jensen stands then slides his hand gently across Jay's cheek. He sees the boy he used to know, big eyes looking up at him, and he tries to convey all the affection and regret he's unable to voice.

"I have to go."

"Jensen, wait!"

"I can't—" Jensen turns away and drags himself to the door.

" _Please_."

Jay's plea follows him out the door, but he's already gone.

* * *

Jared Anderson is alive.

Jared is _alive_.

No matter how many times Jensen says it, he can't believe it. Jay had grown up with his aunt and uncle, the Padaleckis—they must have gotten custody of Jared after the car accident. And no one knew he was still alive.

Jensen gets pissed with Jay's aunt and uncle for not telling any of the Anderson's former friends that the little boy was alive. Then he's angry with himself for not noticing sooner, and for handling the situation poorly. He's even pissed at Jared for a few minutes—at Jay—for throwing this at him. For daring to hold onto a memory so tightly and then—

But he can't be mad at Jay. One look at Jared's photograph beside his bed and he remembers that Jay's not the only one holding onto the past in order to make it through the present.

Jay. Jared.

JR may have been meant for Jared, but Jay was looking for someone else. Jensen is inadequate, tarnished by exposure. If Jay had never known about JR, never told Jensen, maybe things would be fine. Jensen could have evolved and become someone Jay wanted—loved. But he knows who Jay really wanted.

He can't sit and think anymore. No sleep last night, barely going through the motions at work for the rest of the week. He has the sudden urge to talk to someone because he's getting nowhere. And only one sounding board is remotely appealing.

So he calls Christian.

"Damn, Jen."

The exasperation comes after a few minutes of silence. Jensen's told him most of what there was to tell. Ancient history and the not-so-ancient.

"Yeah."

"I mean, that's crazy. You couldn't make that shit up."

"Glad you fucking believe me."

"Man, it's not that." Christian's laugh trails off. "So when are you gonna tell the kid?"

The silence gives his answer.

"You're not plannin' to. Jesus. I've said it before, but you're a bastard."

"It's the right thing to do."

"Bullshit it is." Christian hisses. "He deserves to hear it."

"Doesn't matter."

"Shut up." He's quiet for a moment. "Now that you know all this, have you stopped liking the guy?"

Jensen knows the answer. He hasn't stopped thinking about Jay since Wednesday night. Wistful, like the loss of something great.

"I knew it. So none of this other shit matters. Maybe you should go see him. He works Friday nights, right?"

"Chris..."

"I'm serious. I saw how Jay looked at you, it ain't nothing for him either. I've been your friend for too long to let you pass this up. All the others—yeah, they were good times, but you need something real, Jen. You need him. If he confessed all that to you, I'm thinkin' he needs you too."

He could make a joke. Laugh and ask when Christian grew up and got so wise. But his friend's been the smarter one as long as Jensen's known him. And Christian's always read him better than anyone.

"I fucked up." Jensen admits.

"Yeah," Christian agrees, but his tone is warm instead of harsh. "Take a couple days, think about it and decide what you want. Really decide, because I know that if you walk away from this guy right now, you won't get a do-over. And Jen, don't make me take matters into my own hands."

Fate, destiny, or good old cosmic chance brought Jared back to him once. Jensen knows Christian is right—he won't be so lucky the next time.

* * *

"This is a horrible idea."

"Settle down, I ain't taking you to the Porthouse if that's what you're thinkin'." Christian grumbles in the driver's seat.

They don't usually go out on Sunday nights, but after radio silence for most of the weekend, Christian showed up on Jensen's doorstep and practically forced him off the couch and out of his pajamas.

"Just wanted to get you out of that funk, have a few drinks and chill."

Jensen snorts. He needs more than liquor and music to drag him from his _funk_.

Everything about McDaniel's is familiar. The polished mahogany and clean leather booths, everyone dolled up like it's a special occasion. Jensen blends with all of them, designer jeans and an ironed shirt proclaiming he _belongs_. He may look the part, but he doesn't feel it. Christian's trying his best, plying him with fancy beers and pointing out the hottest potentials in the place. But even his friend picks up on this look in his eyes, desperate to be anywhere else.

"I'm sorry, man." Christian sighs, watching the girl Jensen's just politely declined walk away. "I figured you might be like this."

"You could have left me alone."

"I really couldn't. You thought anymore about what I said?"

Jensen looks at him. Christian already knows he's done nothing but _think_ all weekend. "A little."

"And?"

He glances around the bar, everyone in their element so polished and pristine. No beat up wood under his fingers, telling the tale of lives lived and connections made. The conversations around him are planned out, boring in their repetition.

"I don't want this, Chris."

"The beer?" Christian is smirking. "The questions?"

" _This_." He lifts his bottle and motions around the room. "I don't think this is my scene anymore." For better or worse, he thinks.

Instead of shaking his head or looking disappointed, Christian actually smiles, relief clear on his face. "What the hell gave you the first clue? The fact that you're bored outta your mind, or that you can't stop thinking about the kid?"

Jensen glares at him.

"I'm just sayin'. It's about time you woke up." Christian finishes his beer and flags the waitress for another. "Just so you know, that feeling goes both ways."

Jensen stands and pulls out his wallet, throwing down a folded twenty to cover his drinks. "The hell are you talking about?" Christian looks away, the first clue that something's up. "Chris, what'd you do?"

"Steve, the guitarist from the Porthouse? He invited me there on Friday night to check out some of his new material." Christian's almost blushing and that's a rare sight, but it doesn't distract Jensen.

"And?"

"And I may have talked to Jay a little bit."

Jensen doesn't say anything. He wants to be pissed that Christian meddled, but it's Christian. From the look on his face, he was trying to do Jensen a favor.

"What did you tell him?"

"Not everything. I didn't want you tryin' to kill me."

"Chris..."

"I know, but come on. The kid looked as miserable as you, and when I told him—"

Jensen groans. Of course Christian spilled.

"He needed to know why you left him, and I think y'all can move past it."

"Easy for you to say."

"Yeah, it is, because it's what you need to do. Jen—"

Jensen doesn't turn around. He walks out of McDaniel's before he can break down and force Christian to tell him exactly what happened.

* * *

He's still in a daze when he walks into his apartment. The television holds no appeal and staring at the blank walls gets him nowhere.

Aimless, Jensen grabs a can of soda—no mind for sleep—and wanders into his bedroom. The picture of Jared stuck in a frame catches his eye and he lowers himself onto the mattress.

"So this has gotten pretty messed up, huh?" He asks the photograph. Young Jared still smiles, no idea what kind of revelations lay in store. "You know, I used to imagine what you'd be like when you grew up. You were so generous, even as a kid. Some things never change, I guess. You liked me more than your blanket."

There's no logic to it, but Jared's smile lightens his heart. He can see Jay's smile too.

"You were always the one I could talk to, and now...now I'm not sure what to do."

"You can talk to _me_."

Jensen whips around and Jay's standing in his doorway looking halfway to heartbroken. And halfway to sleep—baggy track pants and a long sleeved t-shirt telling Jensen that _someone_ called Jay out of bed.

"Jay—"

"Your door was unlocked, and Christian called to tell me—" Jay sighs.

Somehow Jensen's not entirely surprised Jay is here. Even less surprised that Christian had something to do with it. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you—I didn't know until...."

"I know." With nothing close to anger on Jensen's face, Jay's safe to side beside him. His eyes shift sadly between the photograph and Jensen. "And I think I know exactly what you want to say to me, but _don't_."

"I'm not the guy in your mom's letters."

Jay's body is warm, residual heat from being tucked under blankets. "Jensen." He pushes his left hand under Jensen's right, links their fingers together. "You need to believe me when I say I don't care."

The caffeine in the soda isn't having much of an effect; suddenly Jensen's _tired_. He lists a little to the left and Jay pulls him back against the support of his shoulder—Jay smells like instant coffee and toothpaste. He has to process Jay's words, tests the weight of the palm pressed to his.

"Your name was Jared Anderson and you were my best friend," Jensen whispers. Jay stays silent, tightening his fingers around Jensen's. "And then you were gone so suddenly, I didn't know what to do. I thought you were coming back... _fuck_. I was just a kid, Jay. I didn't understand what it meant when my parents said you died. I never got to—and then..."

"And then your mom passed away." Jay's voice is barely any louder than Jensen's. "I was so young when my parents died, but I can't imagine what you went through having to watch her suffer."

He's had years to mourn, so the mention of Mom doesn't hurt him as much as it could.

"I got a little crazy after that," Jensen continues, words coming out like they'll never get another opportunity. "First I didn't do anything, and then I tried to do everything. When that didn't work I settled into this...I don't know, this monotonous fog. It never felt right. The routines were just something I used to get through the days."

Jay's expression is sympathetic, but so fucking kind, and Jensen wonders again if he's worthy of such a person. There's evidence to the contrary, and he wants to confess it all.

"I've been kind of a slut, Jay. But not anymore."

"You're not a _slut_ , don't—" Jay interrupts, laying a soft kiss to Jensen's temple, breathing him in deep as Jensen had done only moments ago. He can't smell good, beer and bars and self-pity don't mix, but Jay's not moving, just whispering close. "Maybe you were just searching a different way. Look at me—I did exactly the opposite and wasn't any happier. I'm just glad that we stopped for each other."

It makes sense—and maybe Jay's the only one who can ever make sense of this.

"Are you waiting for JR to come back?"

Jay finally smiles, a sight Jensen's unknowingly been desperate for. "I think I'm starting to fall for someone else. I don't need that guy anymore. I want to take a chance with _this_ one."

Jay's kiss feels like the end of a movie—that one perfect moment when you realize everything's going to work out no matter what stands in the way. Soft lips touch from the corner of Jensen's mouth to the curve of his bottom lip. Warm tongue making the inside of Jensen's mouth tingle, and he pushes back. Jay kisses like he knows Jensen, and in a way, he knows him better than just about anyone. Minutes tick away while they're locked together, hands stroking in sleepy patterns, letting their worries and cares drift away for the time being.

When Jensen pulls back—not too far that he can't feel Jay's breath on his face—he recognizes the hope in Jay's expression. Big, hazel eyes look back, so similar to the bright eyes that had looked up at him twenty years ago. JR and Jared aren't gone forever.

He takes Jay's hands again, curls their fingers together. This time, Jensen knows he's getting something much better than a juice box.

And he's never letting go.

 

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spn_meanttobe challenge, for the prompt: More Than A Memory - Garret Logan's dead fiancee just walked into his pub. It's been seven years since Colleen died, but he hasn't been able to break free of her memory. And now she's back with a new name, claiming not to remember him. Jo Carroll has traveled to Tennessee looking for answers. She's lived a sheltered life since the accident that erased her memory, but now has to face that everything she knew may have been a lie. As the truth emerges, the feelings between her and Garret grow and she's drawn into his world. Before she can commit, however, she needs to know if he loves the woman she was...or the one she's become.
> 
>  **notes.** Okay, so this wasn't really the story I planned to tell. Months ago, I watched Sleeping Beauty and wanted to write a different sort of fic about a betrothed couple where nothing went right. That sort of happened here ;) Originally I had intended for it to be more angsty, with Jensen and Jay messed up from the cards life dealt them. But, alas. Then I saw the prompts for spn_meanttobe and this one almost perfectly fit what I wanted to do.


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